Chapter 6 - Operation Clean Sweep
The Carrington estate on the outskirts of Raleigh looked like a fortress from a Gothic novel. Wrought-iron gates topped with spiked finials, high stone walls covered in ivy, and private security guards patrolling the grounds in sleek electric carts.
Dana parked her car half a mile down the dark, wooded lane, cutting the headlights before the engine even died.
“Security rotates every twelve minutes,” Dana whispered, checking her watch in the dim dashboard light. “Guard post at the front gate is manned by two men. The rear service entrance is blind for approximately ninety seconds when the patrol cart rounds the greenhouse.”
Marcus checked the silencer on his tactical sidearm, though neither of them intended to use lethal force unless cornered. This wasn't a firefight; it was an extraction of truth.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Marcus asked, glancing sideways at her uniform jacket.
“Inspections,” Dana replied dryly. “Sometimes the paperwork requires a little extra persuasion.”
They moved through the dense underbrush with silent, practiced efficiency. Years of military conditioning took over; every footstep was calculated, every shadow utilized. As the electric patrol cart hummed past the greenhouse, Dana signaled with two fingers.
They sprinted across the gravel drive, slipping through the heavy oak service door just as the latch clicked shut behind them.
The interior of the mansion smelled of expensive wood polish, old money, and lavender. Portraits of stern Carrington ancestors lined the hallway, their painted eyes seeming to judge the intruders from another century.
“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Marcus murmured.
They reached Evan’s private study. The mahogany bookcase stood imposingly against the far wall, flanked by leather armchairs and a heavy executive desk.
Marcus pulled a small digital scanner from his pocket and pressed it against the walnut paneling behind the bookcase. Within seconds, a soft click echoed through the room. The bookcase swung outward on pneumatic hinges, revealing a heavy digital safe embedded in the concrete foundation.
“I have the combination,” Dana said, stepping forward. She punched in Lucinda’s birthdate followed by the wedding anniversary.
BEEP.
The heavy steel door popped open.
Inside sat rows of pristine manila folders, encrypted flash drives, and a ledger bound in black leather with gold-embossed lettering: CARRINGTON FOUNDATION: OFFSHORE ASSETS & ACQUISITIONS.
Dana reached in, pulling out the ledger and three flash drives.
Suddenly, the study door flew open.
A private security guard stood in the doorway, his hand dropping instinctively toward his holster. “Hey! What the hell are you—?”
Before he could draw his weapon, Marcus moved with blinding speed, sweeping the guard’s legs out from under him and pinning him against the Persian rug with a forearm pressed firmly against his throat.
“Don’t make a sound,” Marcus hissed, his eyes cold as ice. “Unless you want your employer’s entire criminal enterprise printed on the front page of every newspaper in the country by morning.”
The guard froze, staring up at Marcus’s icy stare, and slowly raised his hands.
May you like
“We’re leaving,” Dana said, tucking the ledger securely into her tactical vest. “Stay on the floor for ten minutes, and you won’t have to explain to Robert why his security failed.”
They slipped back out through the service entrance just as the distant wail of federal sirens began to echo through the quiet residential streets of North Hills.
